Summer Showers
by Galad Estel
Summary: 'Sorrow makes wisdom, Elanor. Never ask to be wise.' Interrupted from writing the Red Book by Elanor's cries, Frodo decides to take the baby for a walk, so Rosie can rest. While out, he struggles to come to terms with a decision he's making. Takes place after the war, when Sam and Rosie are living with Frodo.


Frodo was in his study trying to write again. They had told him it was his job. Pippin had wanted him locked in a tower in Minas Tirith to get it all down, and now he was still bound to it at Bag-End.

At first it had been easy. Well, relatively easy, he had had to adjust to writing with a missing finger. It was the third finger, luckily not a thumb or an index finger, but his hand still felt unbalanced. He had worked hard on adapting though, for people had always praised him on his penmanship. Soon he was writing smoothly enough.

After he was done with the organization of the notes for Bilbo's story, Frodo had started on his own tale. His pen had rolled off an account of the party, though the parting with Bilbo had been painful. With Gandalf's help he had recorded 'The Shadow of the Past'_._ And Sam and Pippin had pitched in their viewpoints for their tramp across the Shire. The unmasking of a conspiracy at Crickhollow had made an entertaining chapter, and though the Old Forest had been frightening to walk through, it was a rather comical recollection. (Except the Barrow Weights, there was nothing funny about them.)

Bree was embarrassing. Frodo couldn't believe he had actually danced on a table and sang! He had been trying to distract people from Pippin but really. He must have been drunk. Strider came off as such a rogue in his introduction that Frodo wondered what King Aragorn would think if he ever read it. Though he might never.

Frodo was stuck. He had gotten past his foolishness at Weathertop, written out the complexity of the Counsel of Elrond, trudged through the mines of Moria, basked once more in the beauty of Lórien, forced himself through Boromir's attack, walked again through the lands of Mordor, but after the Spider he could write no more.

Every time he thought of his capture in the Tower, he would just freeze. His body would grow cold, and he would start shaking. They had stripped him, stripped him of everything. Naked, he had quaked as they touched him, gloating, gloating. He had gotten lost in their yellow eyes, trying to black out. He should have fought harder.

After the tower he remembered little. His mind had given way to Sauron. He had failed. He couldn't, just couldn't finish the manuscript.

The more he wrote, the more he saw his failings. At times, he just wanted to polish his imperfections away, so his readers would like him, but he was a slave to the truth. The future needed to know precisely what had happened. He didn't know why. He should just burn all his work.

Merry said the important thing was that the Ring was destroyed, never mind the accidents along the way, but the accidents did matter. If Frodo had done this or that differently maybe less people would have died. Why had he waited for his birthday? Why hadn't he rushed off with Gandalf at once? Was that short space of secrecy really worth the long delay? Why had he put the Ring on at Weathertop when he had been told so many times not to? Was he right to have taken up the task as ring bearer? Couldn't have someone else done better? Should he have run away in panic after Boromir attacked him? Should he have taken Gollum as a guide? Could he have gotten into Mordor without him? Were there any right answers?

There was a faint cry from down the hall. Frodo lowered his pen and listened. Yes, definitely, a baby's cry. Elanor must have woken up. He hesitated, wondering what he should do. Sam and Rosie usually took care of the Elanor, but Sam was out in the garden, and Rosie was taking a well-deserved nap. Maybe he could see to it.

Frodo wiped his pen on a rag and got up. He crept into Elanor's nursery and looked down into her cradle. Elanor blinked up at him, her round face red and creased and set to cry again. The sun seemed to be bothering her, so Frodo drew the drapes.

'Hey, Elanorellë,' sad Frodo. He lifted her up out of her cradle and pressed her small body against his chest and shoulder. His shoulder ached a little, but he ignored the pain. "Your mother is sleeping. Please don't cry."

She stared up at him with a very serious expression, which did not quite match the frilly white gown she was wearing.

'What seems to be the trouble? Is your nappy wet?'

He checked; it wasn't. Well, she was calm now. Maybe it had just been the sun. He put her back down in her cradle.

'There, there,' he said. 'You can sleep some more, then your mum will feed you when you wake up again.'

As soon as he set her down though, Elanor started to sob.

'Oh, Ellie,' he said, 'don't do that.'

He picked her up and bounced her. Quickly, her cries turned to laughter. Her round brown eyes shone up at him. They were Sam's eyes.

'You like being bounced, don't you?' said Frodo. He bounced her higher, and she giggled. 'I bet you're bored. Do you want to go for a walk?' He carried her down the hall towards the sitting room. 'I have this pack. I can put you in it, and then you can peep out and see things.'

She squirmed in his arms, so he shifted her to a more comfortable position.

'What sort of things?' he asked for her. He put her down on one of the sitting room chairs and went to the closet, looking back over his shoulder to make sure she didn't fall. He returned with a pack. 'Well, outside, there are trees and flowers and a big, big sky. You can reach and reach and climb and climb, but you'll never touch it.'

She stared at him wide-eyed. He didn't know if she understood a word he was saying, but she was an attentive audience.

'That's right,' said Frodo. 'It's that high, but Ëarandil, that is Elrond's father, he flies in the sky at night. Oh, you do know who Elrond is, don't you? Everyone should know who Elrond is.'

Frodo put Elanor in the pack and made sure she was secure before hoisting it on his back and walking out the door of Bag-End. Outside, the August afternoon was sweltering. Frodo walked in the shade under a row of trees, for Elanor's sake as well as his own. He put the flap of the pack up over Elanor's head to block out some of the sunlight.

'Elrond is a wise lord and lore master,' he explained to Elanor. 'He lives in Rivendell right now, but soon he will be sailing over the Sea. Do you know what the Sea is? It's this huge expanse of water. It goes on for miles and miles. I have never seen it, but I have heard stories. They say the Sea is frightening, Ellie, but also very beautiful.'

Frodo paused near a stream and watched the water trickle by. Elanor reached out a hand from the pack and got her tiny fist tangled tight in his hair. He let her pull, pleased with the pain, the punishment.

'The sea is sort of like Galadriel then,' said Frodo softly. 'You were named for her flowers. Did you know that, Elanor? I named you. Sam let me. He was going to name you "Frodo," only you were born a lass, so that wouldn't do. I am glad you aren't Frodo though. I mean I am happy you are who you are, Sun-Star.'

He continued on a ways until he came to an apple grove. He sat in its shade in the long grass and took Elanor from the pack, gently freeing his hair from her hands. He leaned her back up against his stomach, his legs serving as barriers on either side.

'Not as soft as it once was,' Frodo said, referring to his stomach. 'I walked quite a lot of it off. I hope you don't mind.'

He played with Elanor's hair, which was very soft and golden. He wondered if it would grow darker as she grew older, or if it would remain gold. Light hair was very rare in the Shire.

'Anyhow,' said Frodo, 'back to the Sea. Elrond is going over, and Galadriel and Gandalf, and Bilbo too. They are all leaving Middle-earth. And well, I have to decide whether to go with them or stay here with my Sam.'

He paused and looked down at the baby, who seemed content sitting propped up against him, looking out at the world. She was staring at a bumblebee pollinating a flower.

'You see, Ellie,' Frodo continued, 'I love your father, perhaps too much, but I can't help it. You know how good he is. He's sweet and brave and caring…but let's not drift into that or I'll never decide. The truth is, he doesn't need me. He may want me still, but he's got you and Rose, and he needs to look after his family, and I, I am a burden, even if he doesn't see me as such.'

Frodo licked his lip and laid his hands gently on Elanor's shoulders, afraid she would topple forward. She was so small and fragile. He could tear her frame to pieces with his hands. He shuddered at the thought. Often now he had horrible fantasies like this about the people he loved. Carefully murdering Merry, poisoning Pippin, strangling Sam in his sleep. Sometimes Frodo thought that Sauron was inside him – that the Dark Lord had latched on to him when the Ring was destroyed, because, otherwise, these ugly thoughts must come from his own mind, and he didn't want that to be true.

'I don't deserve your father,' said Frodo. 'I can offer him nothing. I must let him go, so he can continue with his life, because I can't finish mine. Going over the Sea would be for the best then. Gandalf says that there I may be cured before I die. Sam will be sad at first, but this will be good for him too. And Rosie will be happy to have her husband to herself. Oh, I am not saying your mother isn't generous, she is, but there are just things and people that are hard to share, and Sam is one of them.'

Frodo lay down on the soft grass and lifted Elanor onto his chest. She smiled down at him as he stroked her arms and back. She reached for his hair again but couldn't quite reach it, so she grabbed the chain round his neck instead. Frodo stiffened but then forced himself to relax. This baby wasn't trying to take the Ring. There was no Ring to take.

They lay awhile in silence. Gradually the air cooled. Grey clouds shrouded the sun. Frodo wondered if it would rain. He liked summer showers. Elanor wriggled, trying to get off his chest. She couldn't crawl yet, but she loved to move. Frodo put her down on her belly on the grass. He watched her push her head and shoulders up with her thin arms. Her eyes looked this way and that, examining everything in sight. Frodo imagined she would grow into an intelligent and inquisitive child, not unlike her father had been.

Frodo remembered well the wide-eyed Gamgee lad, who had came to Bilbo's house to hear stories and learn. When Frodo was first adopted, he had thought Sam must live there – he was over so often. Well, now, Sam did, and it was Frodo, who did not belong in the beautiful Smial. Sam would make a better master, fill the empty rooms with the voices and laughter of children. And Rosie would be there for him, and he for her, and they would be very happy, and Frodo knew he should be glad for them, but he felt like crying.

'It will break my heart leaving Sam,' Frodo told Elanor. 'But everything else of me is already broken, so that'll be fine and fair. He'd go with me, if I asked. He would sail away, and you wouldn't see him again. Maybe he would guide a star through the sky like Ëarandil, and you, poor fatherless child, would grow wise like Elrond. Sorrow makes wisdom, Elanor. Never ask to be wise.'

He bent and kissed her warm forehead. She smelt sweet, like roses. He lifted her off the ground again, held her up in the air above his chest.

'You are so beautiful, Elanorellë,' said Frodo. 'And you're father is very proud of you. He loves you so much, and he loves your mother, and your mother loves you. And I, well, I don't really count because I am going away and you won't remember me, but I love you too, Ellie. And that's why I can't ask him to come. I'll have to tell him to stay in the Shire where he and his heart belongs, with you and Rosie, and that will hurt, Ellie.'

He let her down again and held her close. He pretended that it was Sam and not his baby that he held. They were meant for each other, soul mates. How could he let Sam go? Frodo lay still a while, watching storm clouds roll in. It was slowly growing dark. He felt a raindrop hit his cheek. It was warm and fat. Another followed and then another.

'I don't know if I want you to forget or remember me, Sam,' Frodo whispered. 'But I don't want you to feel what I'm feeling. Cut to bits. Broken. Stripped of everything.'

The rain sprinkled down. It splattered on the overhead leaves. It fell on Frodo, warm and wet, and he wanted more. He wanted the water to wash him, to soak through his clothes and skin and scour his soul. He wanted to drown in rainwater. He opened his mouth, hoping somehow it would fill his lungs. He would die here with Sam, and they would be together. In the distance, thunder rumbled, and it comforted him. He closed his eyes.

He woke to Elanor wailing. Lightning was streaking across sky, and the rain was falling in torrents. He scooped Elanor up and looked frantically about for the pack. It was drenched. He released it and started running back towards the house. Elanor kept shrieking and shrieking. He thought his ears would burst. He kept telling himself over and over: _Don't drop her. Don't drop her. Sam would never forgive you. _

He reached the house and rushed in. Rose was standing just inside, her cheeks white. She took Elanor from him as soon as he came through the door.

'What were you thinking?' she screamed. 'Taking a baby out in a thunderstorm.'

Frodo said nothing. He stared at the wooden panels on the floor. Their knotted patterns made his head hurt. He looked up. Rose was stripping the baby from its wet gown. He felt sick.

'Get her some clothes!' Rose snapped at him.

Frodo ran off at once, came back with another gown, handed it to Rose in silence. She pushed it over the baby's head and worked the small arms into the sleeves. Elanor hadn't stopped crying. Rose brought the cradle into the sitting room and placed it near the fire. She put Elanor in the cradle and rocked her and sang to her, until Elanor's shrieks subsided into soft sobs and then to silence and sleep.

Not long after, Sam came in dripping wet, with a lantern in his hand. 'I don't know –' He said. He stopped when he saw Elanor in her cradle. 'You found her.'

'No,' said Rose. 'Your Mr. Frodo had the stupidity to take her out in a storm.'

'I am sure he didn't,' said Sam. 'He probably took her out when the weather was fine and just went too far a field, got trapped in the rain like. Isn't that right, Mr. Frodo?'

Frodo didn't answer. He hugged his arms over his wet chest, shivering.

'He could've stopped by a neighbor's house,' said Rose.

Sam ignored her, crossing over to Frodo. 'Mr. Frodo, you're going to catch your death of cold. Come on, let's get you into something dry.'

'Oh,' said Rose under her breath. 'So, you're worried about _him _catching his death of cold but not _our daughter_.'

Sam led Frodo away. 'It's all right, Frodo my dear. She doesn't mean it. She was just so worried, see.'

Frodo nodded and buried his head against Sam's cold shoulder. 'You had better change too,' he said.

They went to their separate rooms and got into other clothes, met back in the hall.

'Sam,' Frodo whispered.

'Yes, Mr. Frodo,' said Sam. His voice was so tender that Frodo wanted to kiss him. Instead, he took a step away.

'You have got to stop taking my side in arguments,' he said. 'Your wife's right. I shouldn't be trusted with a baby. I shouldn't be trusted with anyone or anything.' _Not even myself._

'Mr. Frodo, don't be ridiculous.'

'I'm not. I wish I was well, but I'm not that either. We've been trying to deny it, but it just keeps coming back. I'm sorry.'

'It's not your fault,' said Sam, touching his shoulder. 'Anyone would be doing poorly after what you went through, Frodo.'

Frodo smiled at the slip: no 'Mr.' just Frodo, but he hoped Sam didn't see the smile in the dark hall, because now he had to do his best to separate himself from Sam before the final parting. He walked back into the sitting room and knelt by Rose's rocking chair, where she was hurriedly knitting. Her needles screeched together.

'Mistress Rose?' he said.

'Yes,' she said, not looking at him.

'I am sorry for what happened,' said Frodo. 'Very sorry. I have no excuses to offer. I was out and fell asleep, which I shouldn't have done as I was watching her. I only wanted to help. You were sleeping, and she had cried, so I decided to take her out, so she wouldn't bother you, but I made a mistake. I always make mistakes.'

Absently, he stroked the stub of his missing finger.

'But,' he said. He clasped his hands together. 'I promise you this will never ever happen again.'

'I see,' said Rose. She laid down her knitting and looked at the fire. Sam was in the doorway, looking on. Rose's eyes stayed on Frodo.

'I forgive you,' she said.

She picked up her knitting again. She started unraveling the work she had done, fixing the faults she had made.

'I wish I could do that,' said Frodo.

'What?' said Rose.

'What you do,' said Frodo. He looked away. 'Knit.'

'I could teach you,' she said quickly.

'No,' said Frodo. 'There isn't any time.'

He got up and went into his study, closed the door. He sat down on his hard wood chair and looked down at the book he was supposed to be writing. He would never finish it.

_Finis_


End file.
